


but let me tell you baby (i'm so crazy for you)

by plannedserviceinterruption



Category: Captain America (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, ha ha ha woops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-18 11:44:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2347334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plannedserviceinterruption/pseuds/plannedserviceinterruption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kissed by a stranger is not the worst that his night could have gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You put your arms around me (and I'm home)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1589105) by [sarcastic_fina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina). 



He's throwing back shots of Russian vodka like water as he watches Steve attempt to pick up Carter. It's a long time happening, he muses. Steve and Carter have been dancing around each other in a disgusting game of cat and mouse for months now. It only took someone else asking Carter out to trigger Steve into getting his head out of his ass. Bucky called him pathetic for waiting so long. He's about ninety-nine percent sure that Steve was postponing his inevitable relationship with Sharon for Bucky, saying that he needed to make sure that Bucky was ready enough to be re-integrated into society. It's not that he's ungrateful for his reinstated position in Steve's life, but it was frustrating and irritating that he thought Bucky had a loose screw. He needed a friend, not a security guard.

Still, the fact that he's alone on a Friday night watching his oldest friend chase a dame is not lost on him. A poisonous itch fills his chest as he watches Steve. Saint Steven, rescuer of damsels and the representative of all things good. How all the maidens fell before him and how the brethren wanted to be him. His lips twists into a cheap replica of a smile, it's as bitter as the alcohol that burns his mouth. Once again, he got nothing while Steve got everything. He doesn't even know why Steve still wanted him around, or even wanted him to come out. Ever since the serum, Steve needed him less and less, he could protect himself now. Steve is fine without him. He pours another shot. The liquid chafs his throat. Not needed. Not wanted. Gone. Gone. The thought seizes his throat and he thinks of how repulsive he's being. Steve is his friend. Steve saved his life. He wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Steve. And he owed Steve that much, at least.

A flirtatious laugh pierces sharply into his own musing. A young woman and man were standing close, the lack of space between them left no interpretation. Turning back, he thinks of when he used to be good at this, chasing girls and such. Flirting was easy, but it was the chase that he enjoyed the most. His only memory of what he can remember with something like that was Connie, a lover in his first life. He couldn't remember her last name, but he could remember the easiness he felt. Only pigments of memory, like he was looking through a funnel, only specific scenes. Velvet mornings, lavender haze. No pressure, just fun. He was fond of her, this much he can remember. It was easy. And it was free. Just a man and a woman. But he wasn't James Buchanan Barnes of the 1940's any more. He wasn't even sure he was Bucky any more. He didn't know who he was. And he wasn't ready to reveal himself anytime soon.

Frankly, he was exhausted. Debating his own life only lead to more disappointment and he did not want to suffocate in his own anxiety and have Steve coddle him like a fucking child. He's ready to abandon Steve to go home and sleep off the alcohol. He knows Steve wouldn't mind if he left, he pulls out his cell phone and shoots him a text but then deletes it. Steve's not his keeper, he doesn't need to report his every move like he's a child. He closes his eyes and tamps down the pressure growing inside of him. The music is pounding around him, a slick upbeat song playing, bodies grinding with each other. The bar was crowded but it only served to make him more isolated. He pours his last shot and downs it. The alcohol burns achingly down his esophagus. He looks around one more time. Steve looks like a lost puppy around Carter. He steps off the stool.

Ready to leave, he steps off the wooden stool, his feet stepping onto the sticky floor. He's heading around a throng of people when a woman steps up close to him. She's looking for something, perhaps a person. But there was also something wrong with her. Panicked and slightly pissed off is the look she wears, but that does he not distract him from noticing that she's beautiful. Rich dark hair, blue eyes and the type of body that he appreciated. She sees him and then steps close. He tenses, ready to utter the reformed words of 'excuse me'. For a moment, it feels like time freezes and then something resolute passes her face. He has a split second before she grasps the open collar of his shirt and tugs him to her.

"I'm sorry about this," is all she says. But he's distracted by the way her lips pout and the slight haziness of her blue eyes. She abandons the drink she's for his collar and jerks up. The drink spills down the front of his shirt and he feels the liquid soak through the layers of his shirt. For a split second, his synapses fire, anticipating an attack. And then her lips are on his. Surprise clears his mind as she moves her lips against his. It isn't a hard kiss, just a soft pressure. He freezes at the cold wetness he feels from her spilled drink and at the softness of lips, but then he  _reacts._

He backs up accordingly, his back hitting the bar. His arms wrapping around her tightly. The soft pressure of her lips intensifies as he kisses her back. Gasping, she opens her mouth, as if surprised. She whimpers as he nips her lips teasingly, coaxing them to open with his tongue. Groaning, she tastes of sweet alcohol and mint. The little needy noises she makes at the back of her throat eggs him on. His hands are everywhere, the soft skin of her back, the edge where her skin and the dress meet.

“Holy shit,” he hears himself mutter against her lips and then he goes back to kissing her.

He can't help the rumble of approval as she relents and her hands travel from his collar to stroke the underside of his jaw. She hits a spot right below his ear and he goddamn growls, the feeling making him want to shake his damn leg like a dog. She smiles against his lips and strokes the spot again. His hands stop their travels and tighten on her back and then releases it to find purchase on the bar behind him.

He hears the wood of the bar creak under his hands. It's too intense, too heightened. She breaks away from him abruptly and he chases her lips until he realizes that she has leaned her forehead on his chest. They're both breathing heavily, the soft puffs of her breath against his pectoral. He returns his hand on her back, stroking idly at the naked skin. She shivers under his touch and her skin puckers in goosebumps. His lips turn up into a dirty grin and he brushes her hair back and mouths the skin of her neck. It's soft and he scrapes his teeth against it. She places her palm on his chest and pulls away.

"Wait, wait-," her lipstick is smeared and he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. Red steaks his skin and her eyes darken at the sight. Without thinking, he licks his lips at her drunk fuckable look and she whines at him. And then her lips are back on his.

This time there is no hesitation, she gives as good as she gets. Her right hand slips from his jaw, right down to where he aches painfully. She palms him through his jeans and his hip jerk forward. She laughs against his lips and he punishes her by biting on her lower lip. She grips him lightly and slides her palm up once in a forceful motion. He moans into her mouth, grinding against her hot little hand. Electricity buzzes through him, his mind completely all over the place and blank at the sensations. If they go further, and judging by the way she's touching him, that's going to happen, he doesn't want to do it in a room full of strangers.

Not going to last long under her ministrations, he grabs her wrist, not enough pressure to hurt her but enough to warn her. Luckily, she stops and returns to teasing him with her tongue. He cups her jaw, thumb stroking her cheekbones. She sucks on his tongue languidly and she gropes his waist, then his ribs and then tease alongside the collar of his shirt. Her dress is made of a stretchy material and he can't help but sliding his hands against her delectable skin. He skims her backside, hands clenching on her cheeks.

A cough interrupts them and they both break away to look at the bartender. He's collecting empty glasses and giving them an unimpressed pointed look. Bucky stares back unflinchingly, irritated that they were interrupted. He could kill him easily, break the glass in his hands into shards and jam it into his jugular. The wooden shelf above his head is another tempting weapon, it's arched and thick, enough to smash his face without compromising the wooden artifact. 

However, the woman in his arms remains untroubled, an impish grin decorates her face and she winks. Completely unashamed, she takes his hand and pulls him away from the bar. 

"Where are we going?"

She turns around and looks from him beneath her lashes. Idly, he realizes that he's in trouble.

"Somewhere a little more private."

She bites her lower lip and grins, he's then tugged into the men's bathroom. There is one person using the urinal, too piss drunk to care and they slip by him without any trouble.

"Men's bathroom? Why not the ladies?"

"We can go there if you prefer. But we're gonna have sex in a bathroom either way, do we really care about the finer points of debauchery?" she casts him a playful glare and amusement climbs into his chest and loosens the former ache he holds. She grins in return.

She locks the door of the handicap stall, and then she manhandles him against the door. He lets her, more amused and turned on than anything. His delectation is short lived though, when she smiles beautifully and then she kisses him. Her hands working on the belt of his jeans. She unbuckles him deftly, unbuttoning his jeans and slides them down to his knees. His boxers follow and he hisses as the cold air touches his erection.

"Fuck," he hisses. He's uncomfortably hard and he knows that he's practically straining. She coos and licks her palm, maintaining eye contact the whole time she wets her hand. The action is absolutely  _filthy_ and he twitches at the sight of it. She laughs and touches him. He positively loves how unabashed she was. She grips him carefully and then swipes up and down, claiming a pattern. His head hits the back of the door when she starts twisting her wrists in different directions.

"Too much for you?" she teases. Her voice is husky and she drags her finger on the underside of his cock. The bulging vein is her guide and she traces it a few times. He knows that she's teasing him, that it's just enough to tide him through. Eager, he takes her cheeks into his hands and kisses her hard. He then reverses their position, bracing her against the door, with her backside against his front.

He slides his hand underneath her dress, past her panties and then pulls the damp material apart. He smugly grins at her slickness and she whimpers against his mouth. He takes advantage of that, fingers sliding right in the same time he licks into her mouth.

" _Unfh,_ " she moans and she rides his fingers, "not fair," she whines but doesn't stop grinding against him.

"So fucking wet," he growls. She's snug around his fingers, so impossibly tight and he can't wait to be inside of her. A high pitched moan escapes from her mouth and he raises his hand to cover her mouth. She glares at him and licks a stripe on his palm. Grinning, he levels her with the same exasperated look and starts a punishing rhythm with his fingers.

"Oh god, oh god," she squeals under his palm, he lets go of her mouth and slides down to rub her clit hard. Her reaction is instantaneous.

“Please, please. God.”

“God's not here right now.”

She laughs, the sound piercing right through him.

“Shut the f-fuck up,” she squeals halfway through her sentence when he arches his fingers. He grins at the sound she's forming from him fucking her with his fingers. Feeling like it's not enough, he pulls away and removes his fingers from her. Her hips buck back and the noise she makes is practically animalistic.

"What?" she turns around, staring up to him in confusion. Her own fingers come down to alleviate some of the pressure but he restrains her. He turns her back around and crowds closer so that her back is seamless to the front of his body. Lazily, he teases her with the topside of his cock. He initiates a slow grind, simultaneously telling her how wet she is for him, how soft she feels and how tight she is around his fingers. She moans high pitched and inches back, she's dripping on him, wanting him to get back inside of her.

"Fuck, so hot," she gasps when he slaps her ass cheek. She moans throatily and angles her hip higher. Fuck. He slaps her ass a few more times and she turns her head so her cheek lies on the cold door of the stall. Eyes half open, she's a fucking vision. Like she's a seductive goddess, coming down to bestow upon him an offering. She's a sopping wet mess and it's all for him. He pumps himself a few times and grabs the base of his cock to stop from coming.

"Are you gonna fuck me now?" she asks. Eyes dark with lust. He grits his teeth and strokes his cock once.

"Condom," he says low, a growl but not quite. She smiles coyly and pulls one from her bra

"Should've been a boy scout," she says, "I'm always prepared."

She tears it with her teeth and slides down to her knees. He almost offers his coat at the sight of the dirty floors. She doesn't seem to mind though, she continues her descent until she reaches his dick. She takes him in her hand and strokes him firmly once before taking him in her mouth. An embarrassingly loud groan reverberates through the stall. It takes a moment for him to realize that it came from him. Her mouth is exquisitely warm and wet and fuck if he hasn't had a blowjob in a while. 

He holds her hair back as he fucks her mouth, the tendrils escaping from his grip as he loses control. In one hard thrust, she chokes on his cock, the back of her throat closing on him. She gags on him and looks up and he's never seen a sight so gorgeous. Relaxing her throat, he slides in deeper. He wonders how far he can go. He decides to test it.

He wipes the wet hair from her face and tilts her face up to look at him. She blinks slowly, blue eyes so dilated they look black, and then   
he goes all the way in.

Holy fuck.

Her nose bumps his pelvic bone and he lets out a loud noise when she skates her hands down to the sensitive skin of his balls. She slyly rolls them in her left hand as she releases him with a loud pop. She grins smugly at his fuck drunk gaze and winks before sliding the condom down his length.

Desperate to find control again, he pulls her up and kisses her, he can taste himself on her and it intensifies the need to show her a good time. In one swift move, he pulls her up with his left arm. With only one directive, she widens her legs before slipping them around his waist.

"I said I was sorry but I guess I'll take that back," she says. He's curious to why she apologized, the words on the tip of his tongue. But before he can ask, she wraps her hand around his neck and bends down to kiss him. He braces her against the door and with his hand he directs his cock into her.

Every cliché word he's associated with sex flows through his mind. Snug, tight, glove, swollen, velvet, pussy, cunt. He buries his face into her neck and the ridiculous smell of roses and orange permeate into his nostrils. He snaps his hips and starts to fuck her with earnest.

"Oh, fuck," she moans as he fills himself into her. The best thing he decides it how utterly debauched and free she sounds as he sinks back into her. The escalating moans and little hitches, incomplete words. The unhinged reactions makes him feel like he's spending all his sins on her and he fucking  _revels_  in it.

She's babbling in his ear, whining for him to  _please_  fuck her harder, faster. He's never been a sadist, and she's such a polite little kitten, how could he refuse such a request?

It starts getting messy and sloppy, the noises from their connected skin edging him forward and he tugs her hair back so he can suck a hickey into her neck. Judging by the way she's shaking and clawing at his shoulders, she had no problems with it.

He shifts his hips, still fucking her and she freezes as he hits the spot inside of her.

"Oh, God, right there, fuck," she's practically vibrating with need in his hands and what's he to do but to rut into her harder. He tightens the reigns on his control, forcing himself to abate his own orgasm until she reaches hers. But it feels like he's enveloped by a thousand sheets of pure silk.

"You're gonna come, come on my cock? " his voice is guttural. She moans and then laughs and snorts, and the noise makes the corner of his lips go up. She laughs harder at her snort but continues to meet his thrust for thrust.

"S-shit," she stutters and he knows that she's close. Thank god. He adjusts them so his left hand has her against the door while he slides his finger right along his cock. A few more thrusts and she tenses like all her muscles seizes, and wails like she's been shocked and he tightens his fingers, knowing that she will have bruises from him. She's catching her breath, becoming helpless and pliant as the aftermath of her orgasm. She attaches her mouth to the skin of his jaw, muffling herself.

It takes all of his control not to fuck into her like a wild animal. He shudders and expletive words hiss from his mouth when he feels the violent spasm in his spine of a telltale orgasm. His eyes roll to the back of his head, he hears her weak little noises. He knows that it will be earth shattering. He angles his cock just right and then a growl tears through his throat as he stiffens then moves fast. He's violently shaking, the savage orgasm claims him and he bursts inside of her.

The bathroom is eerily quiet, with the exception of the thumping music and the exhales of his breath. She's stroking his hair back and his breathing labors harder. Untangling her legs from his waist, he cringes as he realizes that he's still inside of her.

"Wait," he says. She stills and he pulls out slowly, the squelching noise echoes in the empty stall. He pulls off the condom and throws it into the toilet in one glance. Once bare, he feels shame dilute his post coital glow. Shit. He didn't even get her name before he was balls deep inside of her. Stay classy, Barnes. He tucks himself away and zips his pants up.

"Good shot," she remarks, impressed. The look on his face must be twisted because the grin drops from her face.

"You okay?" she asks, eyebrow furrowed in concern.

“Why me?”

She opens her mouth to reply, then snaps it shut to consider what she's going to say.

"I don't do this often," he blurts out when she doesn't reply. The former smoothness he knows Bucky Barnes claimed completely bypasses him. He doesn't know why he has told her that, he's never particularly cared about explaining himself to others, but he feels like he's going to fuck it all up if he remained silent. He feels the pivotal ache in his stomach at the thought of pegging this completely more than it could be. It's been so long since he's been with someone and he doesn't want this to fade away. She chose him out of all the other available people in the club. She's not obligated to make this into anything, but he foolishly hopes.

But she doesn't even blink, "What? Bang a girl in a bathroom stall? Cause let me tell you, I haven't either," she smiles at him, completely unaware of his inner turmoil.

Her smile wavers as he stares at her. The traditional seven second linger transitions the conversation into an awkward territory.

Her palm comes up and she spans her hand under his jaw, her hands are amazingly tender as her thumb strokes his five o'clock shadow. Her smile becomes more comfortable and tender.

"I'm not kidding, I don't bang dudes in dirty bathroom stalls."

"Why did you kiss me?" he asks, unable to compute how this night turned out.

She bites her lip and looks away, a beginning of a blush tinges her cheeks, "I don't know. I just-" she cuts herself off and smiles before continuing, "you just looked so lonely and sad and really pissed. So, you know what was I supposed to do?"

His gut rolls at her admission. Pity. That's why she kissed him. Instead of harrowing looks and sketched out stares, tonight, he received hot touches and sex instead. Somehow this feels worse than cautious reactions.

"So you were pitying me?" the anger is barely controlled in his voice. Tension threads inside his abdomen, rocking back and forth. The reason for her actions made him want to simultaneously punch a wall and swallow an explosive until he was a million different pieces.

"Hell no. I don't kiss people that I pity," she says, "I did it cause I like you."

The resolution in her voice startles him.

"How? This is the first time we've met, you barely know me."

She raises her eyebrows, "yeah, but it's not the first time you've been to this bar. You're here like every week with your friend. Either your people watching skills suck or I've definitely pegged this whole thing wrong and you've been lusting for your hot blonde friend with the impressive muscles."

"Steve?"

"If that's his name, yeah, sure?"

The suggestion of him and Steve together is so preposterous after what he had just done with her, he slowly smiles. The creeping burn of affirmation that she wasn't doing this out of pity lights a way to his sternum. She grins back like she knows what he's thinking and some of the prickling in his skin flows back.

"I'm not lusting after Steve."

"Good, cause I don't think I could compete with that, he looks like someone who could break me in half," he shakes his head in disbelief and she laughs.

Unable to give a response other than a solemn nod, he kisses her instead. The lingering anxiety melts away and peace settles in his bones and he realizes that this is what he needed. She kisses him back, slowly, intimately. Licking into her mouth, she opens up willingly and he dives in, eager to taste her.

Only when they're both gasping for air that they separate. Blinking lazily, the glassy look does nothing to damper the pure unadulterated bliss that covers her face. 

"You're good at that," she says. Masculine satisfaction simmers through his chest. Stepping back to accommodate her, she bends down and pulls down her torn panties off her legs. They're lacy and purple and he takes them from her hands to stuff them in his back pocket. A wolfish smile graces his face and he pecks her lips once, twice.

"You too. What's your name?" he rights her dress for her, palming her ass. She bites her bottom lip, looking unsure. It's ironic, how she's shy on that one question, when they had just fucked in the bathroom stall of a dive bar. It's so fucking cute that he can't help but press another kiss against her lips. She kisses him back and whines at the back of her throat when he pulls back.

Fucking  _adorable_.

Right then and there, his decision has been made. What they just did definitely satisfy him (and her, by her dazed look) on a carnal level and she's beautiful and achingly dainty and completely spirited at the same time. Her laugh was soulful and she kisses him like he's her lifeline.

"What's yours?" she shoots back.

"James," he holds his tongue, 'Bucky' had almost slipped out.

She eyes him pensively for a moment, as if he was lying. Finally, she looks away and sighs.

The music beats into the acoustics of the bathroom as the main door wretches open, giving them a few seconds of warning. Bucky nearly rips the stall door off the hinges at the panicked look she shoots him. Drunk laughter litters the bathroom and there are five of them, he can tell. Putting a finger on her lips, he motions for her to be quiet. She bites her lip under his finger in a nervous gesture and that does nothing to weaken his interest in her.

Realistically, it takes the five men less than three minutes to do their business, but all he can strictly focus on is how her lips curve and indent under her teeth. She's stiff and scared within his arms and he's thinking of kissing her. He's rubbish for even musing on that thought while she's worrying about being discovered. Finally, the music rushes in a cacophony against the walls of the bathroom and then is promptly shut out when the door rebounds. It doesn't even matter to him that the bathroom is now free, all he wants is to have her lips back on hers.

"They didn't wash their hands, that's disgusting," she remarks, nose wrinkling. The notion dispels the anxiety he feels and he cracks a grin as warmth stretches across his chest.

"You're really gon' talk about this in the bathroom?" he trails his gaze down her delectable body and an honest to God blush creeps onto her cheeks and neck.

"That's different!"

He breathes a laugh at her scandalized tone.

"Please wash your hands after you pee. I'm sure it's one of the Old Testaments," she mutters and squints at him. He wastes no time and snaps the lock open. He pulls her close and relishes her body heat;

“You know, you ruined a perfectly good shirt,” he gestures at the wet spot on the white tee shirt. She eyes the shirt and then rubs the spot.

“Did you want me to pay for your dry cleaning?” she laughs and pats the spot. He holds her hand against his chest and then slides them down so they dangle between them. He sees her smile at their connected hands. They find a corner of the bar that is slightly quieter than the rest and pushes her softly to that direction until she's leaning against it.

“No, but-,” he pulls out his wallet and thumbs a card to a business he frequents, “you can put down your phone number, so I can call you to come pick up my shirt,” he leers at her.

She takes the card and laughs, bright and beautiful, “oh goodness me, that was so very smooth.”

She takes a critical look down at the card in her hands.

"House of Szechuan?"

He shrugs, "man's gotta eat."

She rubs her lips together and it shouldn't be as distracting than it is.

"How about I let you spill something down my dress, that way it's fair," she picks up a forgotten beer from a nearby table and hands it to him,

“I think that's terrible idea.”

“It's a great idea, but just-” she's trying to shove this fingers around the beer, he can't stifle the amusement.

“You're crazy, this is not what-”

“a little bit, so it's fair.”

Midway through their play struggle, he feels vibration of his phone. Grabbing her wrists in one hand, he places the beer back on the table.

“Hold on, wait.”

He wipes his fingers on the front of his shirt and smiles at her. She rolls her eyes and digs into her purse. She finds a pen and scribbles her number down. He grins when he sees her name on the bottom of it with a little heart.

_Darcy._

He pulls out his phone and freezes when he sees the ID.

SHIELD-Coul

Not now.

He rejects the call but a text arrives a second later. 

_Mission. Meet at C Block. TRC._

“Who's that?” she asks.

"I hate to do this to you, but I have to go. It's work."

The coy smile vanishes.

"Okay,” she simply says. She attempts to salvage her smile, but it's now dimmer and he curses himself. It suddenly occurs to him that people probably have used this excuse a million times.

“Here's my number. Call me, I guess.”

“I will.”

She gives him a watery smile, still not truly believing him. But he knows that he wants to get to know her better. Every inch. Every mile.

"Doll, I'll call you when I get back,” he says with more intent.

Her smile widens but there's still hesitation lingering underneath. He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles before using it to drag her closer to him. She kisses him softly back, like it's a goodbye and he pushes harder.

She opens her mouth for him, her arms winding along his shoulders and neck. He groans and pulls her closer and she sinks into him. Their arms are tight around each other, but he can feel like he can breathe easier.

"Ahem," someone coughs and they both break away to look at the intruder. Steve stands tall amongst the crowd, the neon lights reflecting off the angles of his face. The serious frown he had made the sculptedness and hard planes of his face look sinister.

"We got to go, Bucky."

The nickname startles Darcy, who's face is smothered in his chest from embarrassment or shyness. He then remembers how she smiled unabashed earlier at the bartender before she dragged him away. Definitely embarrassment.

"Bucky?" absolute glee saturates her voice.

He could kill Steve.

"Nickname," he murmurs and steals another kiss from her lips.

Steve sighs and Bucky briefly considers going AWOL just so he can spend time with Darcy. Annoying Steve would just be a bonus.

"Bucky."

The 'Captain America' voice grinds his nerves, but for Darcy, she relents under it. Smoothing out his collar, she smiles prettily to him, all shiny hair and glazed eyes and leans up for a placating peck.

"Go, get em' tiger."

"I'll call you."

Soft smile.

"Okay."

 

**

 

He loses the card.

It's his own stupidity that gets in the way. He put the flimsy paper inside of his jacket pocket with the intention of wasting no time. He planned on calling her right when he's extracted from his mission. It was a terrorist cell in Wisconsin, the mission was an easy one, a simple in and out, eliminate threats and take all the information they can. The cell had been a smaller puzzle piece to a larger operation. He knew that they had barely scratched the surface when he was able to funnel the data from their programs.

What he hadn't anticipated was that they were smarter than SHIELD accounted for. Clearly, they were either fed the wrong information or that there was a mole inside SHIELD. He was betting on the latter, since there has been an increasing amount of badly gone missions in the past few weeks. The ambush slightly tipped the advantage to the terrorists, they had shot first, bullets hitting many targets.

However, even if they had accounted for their arrival, they hadn't realized how dangerous and determined that made Steve and him. It was a cyclical trend, the more bullets they shot, the hungrier and more vengeful they got. With a hole in his Kevlar, he was swift and brutal in exacting his revenge. He walked out with only the single wound on his body. They sat in the quinjet, the mission with no casualties but many injuries.

"It's not over," Steve remarks. He had pulled off his helmet, his form is rigid as he sits still in the quinjet. Bucky barely cages the sigh behind his teeth. He knows that it isn't over, not by a long shot. But they couldn't do anything until they had more Intel on the next raid.

"Yeah, I know, punk. This is like a grain of sand on a beach."

Steve scrubs his face with his gloved palms, the dirt streaking on his perspired face. Bucky knew that he looked the same. And smelled the same too. This was not the way he wanted to spend his night. Preferably with a gorgeous brunette with the name of Darcy. He had kissed her once before leaving, like he wanted to have her lips imprinted on his. He thought about her the whole time of their mission, which he shouldn't have due to the bullets flying his way. But she was intoxicating and lively and soft. He couldn't wait.

Like Steve, he had removed his gear and weapons, but kept his outer jacket and knife on him.

"Why does this happen to us, all the time? Our easy missions always turn out to be a whole clusterfuck of interconnected bands of terrorists and messes."

He knows what Steve means, it's been messy and frustrating, always feeling that they're getting everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

"Punk, are you getting tired?"

Steve scoffs, "no, jerk. Are you?"

They both grin at each other and it feels familiar, just like old times.

"So, uh. Who was the girl? In the club?"

The corner of his lips involuntary skirt up at the thought of Darcy.

"Darcy, we just met," he doesn't want to get his hopes up, but he definitely wants to see her again

"Oh, yeah?" Steve's grin turns sly and Bucky rolls his eyes.

"I just 'meet' a lot of people, but you don't see me making out with them."

This time, the sigh escapes his lips.

"You can hardly talk to dames you just 'met' and it wasn't like that, Stevie," Steve scowls at his nickname, born when he was younger and frail, one point for James.

"So I wasn't seeing you kissing her a few hours ago in the dark corner of the club?"

"No, you weren't. Cause she's the one who kissed me. Saw me across the bar and laid one on me."

"Really? Is your game that weak that she had to make the first move?"

The gesture he gives Steve needs no interpretation.

"You planning on seeing her again?" he asks after he finishes laughing.

Bucky pets the chest pocket of his coat, "matter of fact, I am," he discards the gloves and flicks open the button of his jacket where he slipped it. His fingers dig into the pocket and he pulls out the card. He frowns as the paper dwindles in his palm. His chest tightens as the paper falls apart in his fingers. He reaches up and fingers the hole in the torn fabric.

"What's that?"

Steve reaches over and plucks the remnants out of his fingers.

"It's Darcy's phone number," a frown scars his face, and he suddenly feels hot. The previous contentment is replaced with a sense of helplessness. The bullet must have pierced the layer of his coat then his Kevlar vest, "or was."

"Well, there is the first few digits still here. 212-695, but the last four numbers are kind of shot," he hands the card back to Bucky. He tries to think of the last four numbers, 4992? 4292? 2492? Shit.

"I was gonna call her when we got back from paperwork. I didn't want to make her wait, you should have seen her face, she looked so skeptical 'bout me calling her. Shit."

Steve gives him a sympathetic look.

“There's only a few combinations that it could be,” Steve tries to lighten up the situation.

“ A few. Steve, there's probably billions of numbers registered with those digits. Do you really believe-”

He lets out a frustrated sigh and shuts his eyes. Crumpling the card, he shoves it back into his pocket, now useless.

"Well, she said that she saw you across the bar right? Wanna bet that she frequents it every weekend? Some dames like to do that, have a regular hang out. Maybe she'll be back next week?"

Bucky closes his eyes once more but looks up to Steve to continue. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing.

"You gon' accompany me? Or are you gonna be stalking Carter again?"

Steve sputters, "I'm not- Carter- I'm not stalking.'"

"Steve, just fucking ask her out."

"Shut up, jerk."

"Whatever, punk."

The disappointment fuses into the hope in his chest. For his sake, he hopes Steve is right and she's there next weekend. If not, the week after. He'll go every weekend until she's there.

(She's never there.)

 


	2. blow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S ALL CHEESE.
> 
> (i'm sorry)
> 
> also borrowed some lines from the adjustment bureau cause it's a great movie and y'all should watch it if you like Emily Blunt. 
> 
> i'm still debating if i should write another chapter on this.
> 
> thanks for reading!!!!!
> 
> follow me on tumblr: plannedserviceinterruption
> 
> again, not beta'd. 
> 
> all mistakes are mine!!!

Six months.

That's how long he looks for her.

Six months he's scouted the area with no result. It's like she knew he was looking for her and was evading him. He hadn't seen nor hide nor hair of her since that fateful night. He could still remember her breathy moans, hot touches and her smile. Christ. Her coy smile, she had a smile that always looked like she had a secret to tell.

He knows that it's borderline psychotic that he's been returning to the exact same bar for six months, every Friday. But God, he can't get her out of his head. It's too soon, but somehow his gut told him that he needed to get to know her better.

It's frustrating, holding hope for just a glimpse of her.

"Last call, buddy."

Dread curls inside of him like spoiled milk. Another night wasted with his head buried in alcohol. Draining the glass, he unintentionally slams the glass a little too hard. He winces but glares at the bartender when he gives him a dirty look. His glare makes the bartender falter in his wiping of glasses. Throwing enough cash to cover both the tab and the damages, his throat tightens with the unmistakable feeling of shame. He can't help but feel weak, besotted by a dame who he has met once. They barely exchanged a conversation before his tongue was in her mouth. It should have been just that. A night without deep seated resentment and morning after regrets.

He sighs. If it only it was just physical attraction.

He's enthralled by her.

Most times than not, when he closed his eyes, her smile is all he thought about. How she outright said that she liked him and didn't laugh or sneered at his attitude. How delighted he felt when she smiled at him and how the ache simply loosened when she kissed him. Maybe she didn't know about his history, or just didn't care. He secretly hoped for the former, but he knew that Natalia had already publicized every secret that SHIELD and HYDRA had under their dirty rug.

Or maybe her plan was to fuck someone randomly for a one night stand all along. She just needed intimacy with someone to forget about life, and he was just picked up along for the ride. Or maybe she had a boyfriend that she was trying to get over and he was the one who was wrong all along. What a twist of fate that would be, that would be disappointing, but with his whole life, it would not be surprising.

God, he wishes he didn't fuck up and put the phone number inside his pocket.

If only.

He stumbles home, a little punch drunk to care about anything but sleep. His head is pounding and his fingers feel numb. Stark tower has been his home for the weekend. Three months in his Darcy Investigation, he was too frustrated and drunk to give a fuck about making it to the apartment he shared with Steve in Brooklyn. He's been offered many times to stay at the tower by both Stark and his lady, he declined every single time, saying that he needed privacy. So when Stark found him passed out by a potted plant on the main floor, he designated a whole floor for him. He has never said thank you, but he hopes one day he will.

JARVIS greets him like usual. The omnipresent voice annoyed him at first. It felt like he was in a prison, being watched 24/7. But as he returned home piss drunk more and more often wanting to shower, he finally saw the use of the AI.

"Shower, Sergeant Barnes?"

He briefly contemplates it but changes his mind.

"No. Sleep," he grunts. It barely sounds human, the alcohol still slowly burning in his system. He wonders briefly how often he's been close to alcohol poisoning. With the serum, it takes five times the amount to get some kind of effect and it barely stays in his blood. Tonight, he knows if he was not super soldiered, he would be dead.

He makes it to his floor with relative ease. The hallways are empty with the moon shadowing the windows. His room hardly looked slept in, the appliances were still in wrapping and the only personal item was a few shirts he left in a hungover haze. The bed remained untouched like he asked and he strips down to his boxers and flops face down onto the bed. Groaning, he manipulates himself onto his stomach. It felt better that way.

The bedding is soft under his face and he rubs against it like a cat with its owner. Tugging the blanket over his stomach, he opens his eyes once more. The full moon casts dark shadows around the room, highlighting the dust in every crevice.

This is the last time, he decides. This is the last time he's going to do this. It's useless falling into bed alone, with alcohol potent on his tongue.

Eyes dropping and body cooling from the air conditioning, he lulls into asleep.

He dreams of blue eyes and laughter.

 

**

 

He wakes up to the sound of a harsh clang and glass breaking. Instantly, on high alert, he reaches for the hidden glock in the nightstand. His mouth tastes like sour beer and his eyes feel strained. He scrubs his face once and flips the covers from his belly.

"JARVIS?"

"Apologies, Sergeant Barnes. There is an impromptu celebration happening on the floor below us, it seems that someone had knocked over a Ming Dynasty Vase."

Heartbeat returning to normal, he drops the gun back onto the table. He hears celebratory music as well as the muted fitting laughter of people below.

"Celebration?"

"Yes, Sergeant Barnes. Stark Industries is welcoming their newest members of scientists, astrophysicist Jane Foster and her assist-"

Bucky groans and falls back onto the plush of the bed. His head dents the pillow and he grunts. He had heard about Foster through the grapevine, mostly from Stark as he fixed his arm. The only redeeming quality of Stark was that he could somehow manipulate his arm into something better. Whilst, fixing his arm, he was subjected to the many talks of nonsensical science and brags. The only things he could remember that were significant about Foster is that she finished the bridge between worlds. Bucky hardly cared about things that happened in this world, let alone something from a different dimension.

"I don't care, just ensure no one interrupts me until," a quick glance at the clock tells him it's half past eleven in the morning, "at least four. Unless it's an emergency or a mission, it really does not matter."

"Yes, Sergeant Barnes," the AI's crisp voice replies.

He grunts his thanks and falls into sleep with the music.

When he wakes up again, it's four forty five. He stares at the white ceiling for a long time with his tongue against his clenched teeth. The music has long stopped but he can still hear four or five people in the floor underneath him. He's debating on going to the communal kitchen or ordering food from one of the restaurants. Might as well go down and see what the commotion is about. Perhaps he can meet the astrophysicist that Stark had boasted about for so long.

Pulling on his jeans and discarded shirt, he heads to the elevator. He ties his hair in a haphazard bun and blinks at the changing floors. Making himself look calm and withdrawn is easier than people think. Rolling his shoulder once, he steps off the lift.

Steamers, bottles and spilled drinks litter the hall as he inches his way deeper to the kitchen. Idly, it feels like it's stepping into the belly of the beast.  But instead of fallen bodies and broken machinery, Bucky raises his eyebrows as he steps over a passed out suit and around a shattered vase.

"James," Barton greets as he enters. He's sitting at the kitchen table, suit undone, legs propped up onto the chair across from him. He nods his head and pulls the chair from underneath his legs. He gives him a petulant look way that never fails to amuse him.

"Good party?" he asks more out of boredom than curiosity.

Barton shrugs and picks at the label of the empty beer bottle in front of him. It must have been out for awhile, the German label peeling from condensation.

"It's four in the afternoon." his statement sounds like a question.

"Stark party. What did you expect?" Barton shrugs again.

"Why are you here alone? Did Natalia leave you to fend for yourself?"

It's times like these he enjoys nitpicking at their relationship. Barton bares his teeth at the mention of his lover and he looks like one statement away from pouncing.

"Nat went to go get more beer from the east wing kitchen. The new assistant went with her to assist."

"New assistant?"

Barton nods, then his lips curve up in a grin, "yeah, cute little thing. Brunette. Great body. Helped the doc with the bridge. Met her few years ago in New Mexico. Throat punched me when she first met me."

Pure admiration coats his voice. Bucky grins at the imagery his words produce. He has nothing against the archer, but the mention of Barton getting throat punched is something that he never expects someone to do. Suddenly, he definitely wanted to meet this new assistant.

"Why did she throat punch you?"

"Dunno. You'll have to ask her yourself. She won't tell anyone anything except that it's embarrassing. Which I don't get, cause she got the drop on me."

Bucky chuckles and gets up, he crosses the kitchen and opens the fridge to dig for ingredients for a sandwich.

He's halfway done making his third sandwich as footsteps make a steady staccato against the floors. Turning toward the noise, he sees Natalie enter the kitchen with a case of beer in her left hand. She's alone, no other person in tow.

"Hey, where's Lewis?" Barton asks, his hands are tearing at the cardboard box of the beer.

Natalia slaps his hands away and nods toward Bucky, "she left, something about making sure Foster didn't blow up the lab in excitement."

Barton laughs, "well, good luck to her. Scientists are irritatingly good at that," Natalia hands him a beer and he snaps open the top and chugs the whole thing down.

"I hope you know I'm not carrying you to our room, Clint."

"Awe, Nat," Barton whines and pulls her toward him. She lets him and even though her back is facing Bucky, he can tell that she's fighting a grin. Feeling like he's witnessing a moment, he turns his back to them and piles the meat higher on his sandwich and hastily slaps a piece of bread on the top. He places his third sandwich on his plate and takes a beer from Barton when he offers one. Natalia is grinning at Barton as he tells Bucky of the things he missed during his sleep. Apparently, Banner had almost hulked out in mid party.

"Stark's a fucking idiot," he says, he demolishes one sandwich and takes a sip of beer to wash it down.

"Surprisingly, it wasn't Stark," Nat tells him, "one of the newer agents told him that he couldn't go back into the lab inebriated. Dumbass."

"I didn't know that Banner could drink."

"He can drink four beers before he hits his limit. Otherwise, his blood skyrockets and we're completely screwed. And not even the good shit, he drinks Oettinger."

"Hey, I like that!" Barton cries out, affronted.

Natalia snorts, "you like anything that's a beer."

"Not true, that Russian shit you drink is disgusting."

Barton and Natalia start arguing about the better alcoholic preference. Back and forth they banter, getting more passionate by the minute. He finishes his second sandwich by the time Barton lists the merits of why his beer is better.

"Plus, it's made at the best brewery."

Natalie's mouth is open in rebuttal. But before she can reply, footsteps echo into the kitchen. High heels, Bucky can tell. And also walking very swift. The newcomer passes the threshold of the doorway and Barton's eyes brighten as he puts his gaze toward the person.

"Darcy," he purrs, "which is better, Oettinger or Baltika. Please say that the former is better, for all intents and purposes, remember who signs your cheques."

The ringing in his ears amplify and he stiffens as he hears that name. It's a coincidence, Darcy is a common name.

It couldn't be. It has to be a sick twist of fate. He doesn't want to hope.

"Stark does, and sorry man, Baltika is the better one in this pair. Have either of you seen my keys? I think I left it on that table, but it's not there."

His gut tightens as he hears her voice. Barely hearing Barton's reply, he puts down the sandwich when he realizes that he had clenched his fingers around the bread, making the mayo ooze out. Natalia gives him a questioning look but he ignores it, electing to focus on the burn of his eyes.

Slowly, he turns around.

It's her.

Her back is toward him, she's on her knees, reaching for something underneath a table. Her hair is longer, swept onto her back, slightly curling at the ends. But it's undeniably her. He had dreamed of thrusting his fingers into that hair. She leans in and he nearly groans at the sight of her ass in the air. She jerks forward and finally grasps what she's looking for. Giving a triumphant yelp, she reaches back, a pair of keys in her fingers.

What he realizes later on is that he had moved toward her, like a man to a siren, he had unwittingly inched forward until he was beside her. Completely transfixed on her, he doesn't notice Natalia restrain Barton.

"Darcy," he can hear the pure relief that fills his voice. She looks up, not noticing it was him until she sees his face. 

"James?" she sounds lost and as shocked as he feels. But then, to his astonishment, a wide but shaky grin spreads on her face. Like earlier, his heart rate speeds up, but for a complete different reason. God, she's still as beautiful as ever.

"You guys know each other?" Barton asks. He's looking between them like they're a Wimbledon match, trying to discern the score between them.

Noticing that she's still on her knees, he offers his hand to her. She blinks slowly at it and then to his face. Uncertainty passes her face before she takes his hand and he pulls her up. No longer offering the inviting smile or body language, she's smiling, if not a bit distant. Still, it lights a warmth in the it of his stomach. Her hands are warm against his skin and he tightens his grip on it. She gasps and he keeps hold of it.

"Kind of," she says, unsure.

"Yes," he says with intent. For some reason this makes her tense.

She pulls her hand out of his grasp and he squeezes before acquiesces. She doesn't look at him but instead, starts moving toward the door, "sorry, I gotta go. I'll see you guys later."

She turns and walks out the door and it feels like a wound in the chest.

"What the hell was that?" Natalia asks in the quiet aftermath.

 

**

 He waits for her the next day.

Peering through the glass doors, She's laughing at something Foster says through the glass of Lab 43. She's a divine sight, hair loose,  eyes bright. Her lips curve up in a small smile, fingers flying over the keyboard as she types in paperwork.

Darcy Lewis. 24. Born in Virginia. Both parents still alive. Interned under Foster, Jane for six science credits. First contact with Thor. Graduated Culver University summa cum laude. Assistant to Jane Foster.

He had gobbled up all the information he found on her. After explaining to Barton and Natalia of all the waiting and the unlucky card of all the things, they had given him full reigns of finding out who Darcy Lewis exactly was. Not that he needed their permission, he was going to do it anyway.

It's half past noon, he's been waiting since noon to get a chance to talk to her. He knows her lunch break is anytime now. He's waited six months for her, he can wait another fifteen minutes. The flowers in his hands are starting to wilt and look not that great under his constant fidgeting. Bucky Barnes was not nervous, no. Simply impatient to talk to her.

Finally, he sees Foster look at her watch and announce that it's time for lunch. He can't inhibit the reaction that always seemed to permeate whenever she's around. He grins in anticipation as she pulls her purse over her shoulder and pats her stomach, pouting at how hungry she is. The action makes Foster roll her eyes, but he sees the fondness in it. His throat feels a bit dry as he sees her full ensemble.

God, she's trying to fucking kill him. She's wearing a black pencil skirt, it's nothing short, but it's tight. They caress her shapely thighs that he can remember wrapped around his waist. But what really catches his eye since he's been waiting is her top. It's the same red that she wore when he first met her. It's made of some silky material, but it's right around her bust. A pair of black leather, what Natalia would call fuck me heels, adorn her feet. He hisses through clenched teeth in appreciation on modern fashion, and mostly in how Darcy Lewis looks so goddamn gorgeous.

"Lewis."

He straightens his spine as she leaves the lab. Turning toward him, she has a quizzical brow raised. She eyes him down cautiously before telling Foster that she'll find her later. The scientists gives him a wary look but squeezes her shoulder before heading down the corridor.

He waits to hear the elevator close before he takes a step toward her. She stays in the same spot and eyes him down until she has to look up the see him.

"You know, you're a hard person to find. I went to the same bar for the past six months, trying to get a glimpse of you."

She bites her lip in response but says nothing. He can tell that she no longer has the same doe eyes she had for him in the club. He panics inside as he has never considered she might have moved on.

"Come to lunch with me? Take a walk."

She sighs and looks away.

"Don't you have to go on a mission or something?" her voice is small and wary, that's not the best sign.

"No, uh. I just got released from medical a little bit ago."

She bites her lips again and snaps her teeth together, "'I haven't seen you in six months and you hurt me.' is not the best way to start a relationship, by the way."

He laughs, but it comes out strangled. A slight pressure releases at his tense chest. He hands her the flowers.

"I got these for you."

She smiles at them brilliantly. Score one for Bucky.

His phone rings.

And her smile freezes.

She motions for him to get it and he snarls into the phone.

It's Steve.

"What?"

_"You just wake up?"_

"No. Steve. Tell Coulson I won't be there for the debriefing."

He hangs up the phone.

"Does Captain America know where you are?"

An uncomfortable churn forms in his gut that she knows who Steve is. That means there's a high chance she knows who he is. He swallows.

"He's not my handler. We've been friends for a long-"

"What debriefing?"

"Doesn't matter. Take a walk with me."

She blows air from between her teeth.

"No," the cadence is hesitant, both simultaneously gives him hope and dread.

His stomach drops.

"Why not?"

"I don't think you should miss your debriefing. I mean, it's your job, right. And what if I don't like what you have to say at the end of our lunch?"

"So that's a yes?"

He can change her mind, he decides. No, he will change her mind. Change her mind and make her see that he's not the asshole she pegged him to be. He won't make the mistake of letting her go. Not again. If she let's him. It's her decision.

But if she doesn't want him.

Then he'll walk away. He'll walk away. It'll be hard as hell, but he will.

"No. That's a no. There's a chance that this isn't what you want."

"I'll take that risk."

She looks up to him searchingly, "well seriously, my number hasn't changed. Just call me like you didn't last time.”

"Just take a walk with me, and I'll explain everything. Please."

He hears the desperation in his own voice but he doesn't care. He just wants her.

She rubs her lips together that makes his eyes drop to her mouth. He's vaguely taken back to the first time they met, red smeared all over her lips. It's quiet for a moment, she's contemplating it for real this time.

"One walk. That's all you get."

Elation fills his chest.

One walk.

That's all he needs.

 

**

 

They walk down the busy streets of New York, streets buzzing in the lunchtime rush. She's quiet, hands clenching on her bag strap, and he knows she's as nervous as he is determined.

"It's been months, how do you know you still have a chance?"

Natalia and Barton told him that she's been single for a while so he scraps the idea fast. But even the idea of her having someone else while just kills him inside. Still, he doesn't want to let her know that he's invaded her privacy.

"Do I still have a chance?" he humors her. They stop at the crosswalk and wait for the light to change. He takes this moment to take a look at her.

She stares back, "would it matter if I gave you one?"

The light changes and  they step off the curb.

"No."

She scoffs, "so you're gonna be the asshole who presses in uninvited?"

"No, I wouldn't. Not for you. If you say no after this, I will back off. But know that it won't lessen my affection for you."

She bites her lip and he sees it an effort to hide her smile. Good. He wants her to know that he's serious about everything.

The enter a popular pizzeria, one that he and Steve frequent and pulls the door open for her. She glances at his left arm and walks in, the hostess greets them at the foyer and seat them in a booth.  They politely wait until she leaves before he turns his gaze back to her.

"You know who I am."

She takes her eyes off the menu, "What?"

He motions his left arm, clad in a flesh covered glove.

"Wha- yeah. I did, I do," she doesn't elaborate and looks back at the menu. She's focusing on it too much, and he knows because there's only seven different choices of pizza and three types of drinks.

She sighs and drops the menu, "the first time you um," a pretty blush reddens her cheeks, "touched me, I knew that it was a prosthetic, it felt too plasticky and hard to be flesh. It didn't connect until later when I was trying to find you."

It clogs his throat that she knows who he is, mild panic that she wouldn't want him any more because she knew of all the things he had done. It's going to be so much more harder to get through to her with the added weight of his past offenses. All the things that he done in his past would always come back and haunt his future.

A hand lies on top his closed fist, loose and warm. He eyes follow her arm until it reaches her face. Her smile builds into a grin, he looks for any hidden disgust or pity in her expression.

"Honestly, it doesn't matter to me who you were or what you have done-"

He flinches, but she still has her hand on his. She tightens her grasp.

"It doesn't matter," she repeats. She looks at him meaningfully and he wants to say something, anything to drain the tension out of his body.

The waiter arrives to take their order, she starts pulling away but he slides his thumb on top of her hand. Her breath hitches.

"What can I get you?"

"I-I'll get the special."

He turns to Bucky.

"And you?"

"Same."

He's pretty sure they ordered Ham and Pineapple, that was the special every Saturday. The waiter leaves and she takes a sip of her water with her free hand.

"Why didn't you come back to the bar after that night?"

"I couldn't. I was in Tromsø for past few months. Jane found some phenomenon with the stars and- and when you didn't call, I didn't want to go back and see you with someone else."

Knowing that she wasn't deliberately avoiding him, it eases his anxiety. He nods and keeps his other questions to himself. He's an absolute fuck nut, leaving promises and not fulfilling them.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I wanted to call but I couldn't."

"You still haven't told me your bullshit excuse on why."

He flips her hand so he can spread her fingers, he entwines his fingers into hers. She rolls her eyes but doesn't pull away.

"Honestly?"

"Well, yeah. Unless you want to lie and screw this up again?"

"So, I am on my way in fixing this."

"Depends on why you didn't call me."

It's tempting to tell her some bullshit excuse that he put his jacket in the wash or that it slipped out of his pocket. Something normal that won't scare her away. On the other hand, she's been busting his balls this whole time, which for him hints to a promising future. She already showed that she's not scared of him; that it didn't matter in what he does or did. She's unfazed about finding him in Stark tower. He realizes that she's more angry at him for not calling her than she is about fucking the Winter Soldier.

"I was on a mission and I got shot in the chest."

Predictably, she startles.

"What! No." she squeezes his hand unconsciously, eyes wide.

"Kevlar, there was Kevlar. Don't worry," he impishly grins at her glare.

"You start your excuse with you getting shot in the chest and tell me not worry," she mutters, "okay, then what does that have to do with anything?"

"Your phone number was in my chest pocket," he pats his left side. Her eyes drop on the area and he continues.

"The bullet ripped through the card. I was planning on calling you right after I was on the plane back, but it was unsalvageable."

Feeling he has to prove to her that he isn't lying, he recites the first six digits of her number.

“I looked you up on the phone book, even on the computer, but I couldn't find a single inkling of you, It's like you disappeared.”

She's speechless for a moment, heavily contemplating his words. Doubt, surprise and then resignation fall on her face before it settles for a look of quiet daze.

"That is either the most elaborate excuse that someone has given me or you really want to get in my pants."

"Doll, I was already in your pants. I have your panties still to prove it."

She turns bright red and she has never looked so beautiful.

"James!" she squeaks.

"But that's not why I wanted to see you again. Did you really think I flirted with you all over the bar and went back for six month every Friday to find you just to get into your panties? Do you know how many 'Darcy's pop up when you look in the computer? Even with Stark's technology, there were thousands."

He stops himself before he can spill the length he procured to find her.

"Go out with me," he hastily asks, "please."

"James," his name is a sigh on her lips. And this is the moment that it all rides on.

He can't look at her as she decides. If she rejects him, he doesn't know if he can handle with being just friends. He's never wanted someone so much before. But if she takes him, if she takes him then he'll do whatever she wants. However long she is wants until she doesn't doubt him again. Her chair scrapes the floor, he feels her hand cups his jaw, gently turning his head so he's only looking at her.

"Yes."

Their meals arrive and she takes her hand away from his slack jaw. The waiter places their pizza tray down and tells them to enjoy their meals.

She picks up a slice of her pizza and nibbles on the tip.

"Yes?"

"Yes. I'll go out with you," she points her pizza at him, "but you better wow me. You're still in trouble. Honestly, it's been six months, I can't believe I'm doing this."

"I will. You won't regret it."

He's still incredulous, staring at her like some fool in love. She's smiling too, biting into her pizza like it's not a big deal.

"What, do I have something on my face?" she swipes the corners of her lips.

"No, I just- you're beautiful."

She laughs, "shut up."

"Tomorrow night, 7. Be ready to get wowed."

She smiles, and it feels like everything will be all right.

(It is.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> haha, whoops! 
> 
> i was almost done the next chapter of fools and kings when this popped up.
> 
> so yep.
> 
> thanks for reading!!!!!
> 
> please leave feedback (that would be awesome)
> 
> follow me on tumblr: plannedserviceinterruption


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